


acceptable methods

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Series: one long, slow con [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Coping Mechanisms, F/F, F/M, Greeting Cards, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, stolen puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: Caitlin Snow sees something familiar in the line of Lisa Snart's shoulders when she hears the news of her brother's death; Cisco Ramon knows how to move forward without moving on; Lisa Snart is too selfish to want them to hate her and too ambitious to have any intentions of making it easy on them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just tryin' to get back in the swing of things, kiddos
> 
> this is a bit darker than my normal (though not dark per se...) and there's one scene that's on the edge of nsfw (nothing happening, but it's clearly a conversation in the middle of something that was/will be happening), just a heads up

The crew of the Waverider is standing in Star Labs, surrounded by the people they’d left behind, grim news from both camps hanging over everyone’s head–

Sara is on her knees on the floor, fingers curled painfully tight in her hair as she tries to breathe, breathe, breathe through the weight of her father’s hand on her shoulder, her sister’s death on his tongue–

and there’s something familiar in the way Lisa brushes aside Mick Rory’s gruffly offered palm. Her back is ramrod straight, her sharp and painful smile stretches over white teeth, and she says, “Here I thought he was too cold-hearted to die,” as if it’s not breaking her heart to know she’s the last Snart standing.

There are other people for Caitlin to fuss over- Ronnie’s legacy burns bright in Jax and Stein and she’ll fan their flames for the rest of her life if it means keeping a tiny piece of her husband alive- but she pauses on her way to them. Fixes Lisa in her most serious gaze (hands carefully at her sides because there’s nothing smart in literally reaching out to a convicted felon) and tells her, “That won’t work for long, you know.“

Lisa’s jaw tightens, understanding the intent behind the words even through the oblique phrasing. “You offering a shoulder to cry on when it stops?” she asks, snide, and spins on the heel of one combat boot to stroll away.

“I could if you wanted,” Caitlin blurts out.

(She doesn’t know why she says it, except that Cisco likes the woman, for reasons that Caitlin has tried and failed to understand. She doesn’t know why, except that she knows how it feels to draw yourself as straight as you can and deny, deny, deny, until the pain feels like it won’t cut you when you let it out. She doesn’t know why, except that she knows the denial makes it cut worse in the end.)

Lisa doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t ask Caitlin if she means it–she just laughs. The sound is _bitter_.

***

“You know you’re my best friend, don’t you?” she asks, fingers gripping tight in the fabric of Cisco’s sleeve. It’s very important, all at once, that he knows how important he is–to the Team, of course, but to her, to _her_.

He smiles at her, an expression that transforms his entire face–the corners of his eyes crinkle and his cheeks dimple and his teeth sparkle, even in the dim lighting of Cait’s living room. She might be in love with him. She can’t believe it’s taken her this long to figure it out.

“Besties forever,” Cisco promises, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. They’re both very, very drunk, and watching reality television that involves a lot of elegantly crying women and the men who keep breaking their hearts. “Caity Caity Caity,” he sing-songs, a little breathy with laughter, and she peppers his cheeks and nose with little soft kisses (because there’s something in her chest that’s just the left side of painful, that’s made up of don’t-let-time-get-away-from-you’s and can’t-even-imagine-life-without-him’s).

Cisco laughs some more.

She likes the way his nose crinkles when he does, so she fumbles drunkenly to tickle him, drawing the sound out longer and louder until he’s reciprocating and she’s shrieking and they’re falling off of her couch, piled together on the floor with her head on his chest and both of them desperately trying to catch their breath.

“Too drunk for feelings,” Cisco mumbles, his eyes closed and his hand running over her hair, almost petting, and she knows he’s thinking the same thing she is.

This is _good_.

This is _better_ than good.

This is something special.

***

Cisco’s hand is on Lisa’s elbow, steadying her as she grits her teeth, face twisted into something like anger and shame and pain all at once. (She’s been vulnerable in front of them a dozen times too many, Caitlin suspects. She’s been forced time and again to let them in, and she’s tired of it.)   
  
“Can I look?” Caitlin asks, as close to neutral as she can get as she begins pulling on her gloves. There’s the sharp snap of latex, a wordless declaration of the necessity of the inspection, and Lisa nods once. She’s schooling her face back into something like her archetypal smirk, snide commentary crawling its way out of her throat, and–

“You kidnapped Cisco once,” Caitlin says, in a voice that’s properly neutral this time. She prods at Lisa’s wound, none-too-gently yet without specific malice; clinical.

“Cait,” Cisco warns, releasing Lisa so that he can procure her a chair, and Caitlin rolls her eyes without looking at him.

“He’s forgiven you,” she adds.

“Shouldn’t’ve,” Lisa grunts.

Caitlin smiles a smile like a wolf, reaching for a needle and gauze, and responds, “I agree.”

Their eyes lock; Lisa’s lips twitch in something like a true smile. “At least someone’s got his best interests at heart,” she remarks, accepting the hand he offers her as Caitlin begins to sew. Her knuckles are almost white, fingertips probably bruising, but Cisco doesn’t wince, just draws his brows together in concern. Lisa’s voice is smooth, though, when she continues. “I don’t, you see; I’m too selfish to want him to hate me.”

***

Lisa strides into STAR Labs, six feet of leather and gold and straight-backed confidence, and she hands Caitlin an envelope, face solemn and fingers lingering. The air is heavy with gravitas.

Barry takes half a step forward like he wants to seize the envelope and fling it into the sea, where nothing inside it can hurt anyone and nothing it may say could hurt Caitlin–

but Lisa’s handing an envelope to Cisco, too, a hint of a smirk breaking through the assumed stoicism, and Caitlin waves away Barry’s superheroic concerns.

Lisa’s grown fond of Cisco; she’ll betray his interests in pursuit of her own, possibly allow her associates to minorly injure him if he gets in their way, but she won’t murder him in cold blood.

(Maybe she’d even stand between Vibe and the Rogues, should they ever find him too meddlesome. It’s hard to say.)

The paper of the envelope is thin, vaguely pastel yellow, and Caitlin thinks she knows what’s in it, can’t help but snort when she tears it open and slides out a dollar store card. There’s a generic cartoon of a bear on the front; the inside says “Thank You Beary Much” in comedic script, a scribbled “for sewing me up, even though I bled all over your floor xoxo” underneath.

Lisa’s smile transforms her face, childlike mischief and whitened teeth glittering as she hooks her thumbs in her belt loops. “I’m letting people know I appreciate them _before_ they die, these days,” she explains, with a practiced nonchalance through which a crack or two or three can still be seen. (Her smile widens, almost too big for her face, Cheshire and sharp but–genuine.)

Caitlin peers over Cisco’s shoulder, tilting her card for him to read. His is simple, text-less inside; there aren’t pre-made cards for “sorry about that time I kidnapped you, thanks for not letting me blow up anyway. Mardon stole a car yesterday, don’t tell him I told you.”

“This is not an acceptable method for expressing remorse for kidnapping,” Caitlin tells Lisa, not having the slightest clue how else to respond, and she simply receives an unrepentant shrug in response.

“How come she got an ‘xoxo’?” Cisco demands, prodding his finger at the offending letters. His hair brushes Caitlin’s nose with the force of the movement, feathery and ticklish and smelling like strawberries, and Caitlin draws back, blinking. Bites the inside of her lip while the urge to lean into his side passes.

Lisa shrugs again, bright eyes flicking from Caitlin to Cisco, assessing, even as she casually explains, “Didn’t have another car jacking to report unless I planned to implicate myself.”

(Barry pinches the bridge of his nose and Cisco snorts, a sound halfway between exasperation and fondness.)

Lisa’s phone buzzes and she purses her lips. “That’s Shawna,” she says, apologetic, and leans in to press a kiss against Cisco’s cheek. Without hesitation, she turns and kisses Caitlin’s, too, just before Peek-a-Boo appears at her side and they both flick away.

(Lisa smells like citrus.)

(Caitlin bites her lip.)

***

Cisco’s hands are big and warm on her hips, his thumbs tracing the bone, over and over and over again, gentle and smooth through the fabric of her skirt.

(She wonders how his calluses would feel against bare skin.)

Her own fingers are fisted in the front of his t-shirt, looser than she’d prefer but this is one he loves, old and faded and soft against her palms, and she doesn’t want to stretch it out.

(She wonders if he’d mind if she clutched at his shoulders instead.)

He tastes like lollipops.

(She wonders how many he’d have to eat before his lips could stain hers, and if he’d be willing to conduct an experiment.)

(She could stand doing this enough times to have useful data.)

***

“Back away, Mick.” Lisa’s voice is so often round and warm and playful- deceptively so- that the growl, the steely strength, is jarring. Still, Caitlin remains frozen and Heatwave remains looming, turns his head only slightly to address the barrel of the gold gun.

“Known you since you were a kid, Lis,” he rumbles, words like an impending train, inevitable and unstoppable. “Gonna shoot me to play hero for some scientist won’t even let you get into her pants?”

“I may be fond of the Doc here, but what I’m gonna shoot you for is going off book.” Lisa reaches out with her other hand, a snapping hit to knock his grip loose from his own gun. It clatters to the floor, and Caitlin sees her eyes flash before her eyes as she expects each bump to make the weapon explode.

“It’s a stupid book,” Rory snarls, snapping his head around, and Caitlin takes a step back, away, thinking she can scamper off while the Rogues are focused on each other. Thinking, for whatever reason, that this is what Lisa wants her to do.

The gold gun swings around. “Can’t let you leave and give up the game to Barry,” Lisa says. There’s no trace of apology in her voice, and Caitlin wonders why she bothered to expect it. To Rory, Lisa adds, “You only think it’s a stupid book because there’s an entire clause describing what you can and can’t blow up.”

“People are on the ‘can’t’ list.” He bares his teeth and Lisa bares hers back, a stare down of pitbull and wolf. “Think you’re goin’ soft.”

“I think with the Flash around, we’re inclined to get caught as often as not, and murder lengthens our prison sentences and increases security on our cells,” Lisa snaps back.

There’s a stubborn icy little piece of Caitlin’s heart that wishes she had a different name, and it admires Lisa’s pragmatism. It also digs its claws into every bit of tissue it can reach and hisses _Lisa won’t shoot_ ; _you’re not a speedster with a healing factor and the gold gun kills_.

Caitlin takes a deep breath. She runs.

***

Cisco is the one who answers the door when Lisa knocks. He knew it was going to be her, had straightened his back and clenched his jaw, had summoned to his lips one of the many rants he’d already voiced to Caitlin–

“I thought she was trying, I thought her Rogues were different, I thought we were friends, Cait, she threatened you and Barry barely made it out of that trap they set for him–”

then he answers the door, and Lisa thrusts forward a pastel blue envelope.

Cisco’s words die half-formed as he stares at the offering.

Lisa holds it patiently and Caitlin drifts to Cisco’s shoulder, leaving just a sliver of space between them as she peers–first at the envelope, “DOC” scrawled across the back, and then at Lisa, face set in a careful mask of arrogance and nonchalance. (If they don’t forgive her it doesn’t matter, that face says, but still she holds out the envelope.)

“You can’t apologize for something you’re perfectly willing to do again, that’s not how this works,” Cisco finally says, lifting his chin, his eyes, his courage. He squares his shoulders. “You and your team tried to kill one of my best friends today.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t.” Lisa abandons her efforts to get Cisco to accept the apology and presses it into Caitlin’s hand instead as she huffs, petulant, and insists, “No harm, no foul.”

“That’s not how this works,” Cisco repeats, a desperate mantra of defense against Lisa’s beguiling smile, and he moves his arm when Caitlin leans into his side, lets her fit against him as she slips a fingernail under the flap. Lisa’s head tilts, sharp eyes flicking curiously from his hand at her hip to the little smile Caitlin can’t quite help, and then she meets Caitlin’s gaze. There’s something like jealousy and something like longing glittering in the depths of her eyes and–

Caitlin jerks her eyes away. “‘Sorry I threatened you at gunpoint,’” she reads, and can’t quite bite back a snort as she finishes. “’NOT sorry I successfully robbed a bank; we’re going out, drinks are on me.’“

Cisco groans and spins on his heel, throwing his hands up as he stalks back into the apartment. Lisa cackles, slipping past Caitlin to follow him, and coos, “Come on, baby, it was funny, wasn’t it?”

***

Cisco’s laying flat on the couch, his head in Lisa’s lap as she runs her fingers through his hair–Caitlin hovers in the doorway, beers in hand, loathe to ruin the moment, to break the spindle-thin spell and remind them that they’re fighting. Lisa’s eyes are soft, soft in the way they get when her feelings are genuine and not a facade, and Cisco’s are closed. The skin at the edges slack with exhaustion.

“Don’t forgive me,” Lisa whispers, but the silent room still fills with her voice. Her fingers trail four perfect rivulets through the river of dark hair spread over her thigh. “Tell me you hate me and tell me to get out. I won’t come back.”

“I don’t forgive you,” Cisco agrees, voice sleepy, and Caitlin sways with surprise. (Lisa’s eyes flick close, her hand stills. Her face is blank.) He reaches up and closes his fingers around her wrist, holding it in place just before she withdraws. “But I’m tired of you leaving.”

***

“You’re in love with Lisa.”

Caitlin doesn’t ask, but tells. She knows him, knows him in the best and most painful ways, and she knows that he is, knows that Vibe loves Golden Glider and that he can’t even bring himself to regret it.

Cisco drops his cheek against her thigh and doesn’t quite sigh. “We’re gonna talk about this _now_?”

She drops back on the heels of her hands and wraps her legs around his ribs, shrugging, finds intense interest in the patterns of the popcorn on her ceiling. “You can’t get away from me with your pants around your ankles.”

He’s laughing into the junction of thigh and hip, his sides shaking between her legs, and she feels her own lips twitch. His exasperated, amused affection fills the room, drapes over her shoulders like a body-warmed coat on a crisp winter’s day.

“You are, though,” she prods, gently grips a handful of silken strands to drag his eyes up to hers. “You love her.”

Cisco’s fingers drum against the small of her back. (She wishes she knew binary.) “You don’t?” he asks, frank, and–

“No.” Caitlin chews on her lip, fingers tracing the curve of his ear (he makes a face, pulling away. Ticklish.), and then she admits, “But I think I could.”

***

Caitlin sips her beer and presses into Cisco’s side. Watching baseball is boring; she doesn’t have the kind of mind to calculate statistics or trajectories as the ball is hit, she doesn’t know anything about the players or the teams, and they aren’t even at the ballpark, where the smell of peanut oil and the roar of the crowd could convince her, just for a minute, that she actually cares.

She suspects Lisa doesn’t actually like it either. That this insistence on sticking the game out to the final inning-

they’ve hit _twelve_ and Caitlin feels no remorse in admitting that she excused herself to scream into a pillow-

is just one long, slow con with a punchline they’ll never see coming.

But the jersey draped over her shoulders is a far cry from the orange spandex of her updated costume, her skinny jeans a more relaxed look than even her traditional leather pants–she showed up on their doorstep with a sixpack and a channel number, and neither Caitlin nor Cisco is inclined to look this gifthorse in the mouth.

An afternoon of _normalcy_.

Caitlin hasn’t had one in so long she wants to cry.

***

“Lisa bought me a puppy,” Cisco tells her, face lit up with the force of his smile, and Caitlin turns to Lisa. She blinks, crosses her arms, _waits_.

Lisa huffs and rolls her eyes. “Fine, so I accidentally stole a puppy and figured he might want it.” She waves a hand in the air as she walks over to the fridge, leaning down to search for any kind of soda other than _disturbingly orange_. Her voice is muffled as she explains, “I have cats, they’d eat the poor thing.”

Caitlin drags her lip through her teeth, counting MAP Kinases in her head until the specter of kitchen-knife related homicide has faded. “Whose puppy was it, Lisa?” she asks, carefully, and Cisco hugs the mongrel to his chest with narrowed eyes.

“I’unno.”

“Yes, you do.” Lisa still has not emerged from the fridge. “Lisa…”

“Some punk kid who thought it was smart to talk shit about Lenny.” Lisa pops the tab on her soda, a whoosh of carbonation, and she rises–kicking the door of the fridge shut with more force than necessary. “Don’t think they were gonna treat it right, either,” she adds.

Caitlin doesn’t know if Lisa’s saying that to assuage their guilt, doesn’t know if it works one way or another. She breathes in through her nose. “Tell me you haven’t–”

“Maurice.” Cisco sounds so proud.

She breathes out, warns, “It’s not sleeping in the same bed as me.”

***

Lisa kisses Cisco on New Year’s.

It’s a soft peck, barely a brush of lips before she pulls back and winks and leaps backwards off the roof of the apartment building. He reaches the edge just fast enough to see her catch hands with Shawna, see them disappear in a puff of smoke, and there’s frustration in his voice when he buries his face in Maurice’s side and explains just how Glider got away.

There’s frustration in the pit of Caitlin’s stomach as she thinks about the fact that Cisco’s kissed Lisa three times and she’s never kissed her once.

She wants to know how it feels the same way she wondered about Cisco’s touch (playful and gentle and callused and warm-like-living) and whether their lips could transfer food dye (they can). She wants to know how other things feel, the shape of Lisa when they wake up in bed together, the weight of an envelope that’s filled with something other than insincere remorse, the texture of leather under her cheek as she falls asleep with Lisa’s fingers in her hair. Caitlin wants for something they’ll never be able to have, with the lives they live–

She thinks that Lisa probably tastes like moral ambiguity.

***

(She finds out that Lisa tastes like cotton candy and beer and stadium peanuts.)

**Author's Note:**

> originally on tumblr at http://lisasneeze.tumblr.com/post/150402269632/acceptable-methods
> 
> keep an eye out for parts two & three, from lisa and cisco's points of view... if I ever write them....


End file.
